I am very annoyed with myself. Today I should have been reporting back on Jewish Book Week for the second time, and specifically a talk entitled Celebrating Irene Nemirovsky. Except... for some reason, I was certain that the talk started at 7.30pm. Just managed to get onto the Tube at about 7.10pm, gave the ticket a quick check... and discovered that it started at 6.30pm. Amusingly, I'd written 7pm in my diary. I've probably scribbled down 2.15pm somewhere else, and midnight-under-a-full-moon somewhere else again.
So. Four hour round trip for ten minutes of a talk - which was probably brilliant, I'm afraid I have no idea. It was nice to hear Irene Nemirovsky's daughter Denise speak (albeit briefly, and in French, ably translated by Sandra Smith who also translates Nemirovsky's work) and the journey there gave me the opportunity to read Nemirovsky's David Golder, so I'll blog about that before too long.
Very frustrated with myself - but, even though I didn't hear him talk about it, Oliver Phillipponnat was there in his capacity as Nemirovsky's biographer (with Patrick Lienhart) and I think The Life of Irene Nemirovsky is another to go onto the list...
As well, of course, as a better organisational mind. Tsk.